5/24/2002
2:53 PM
Logfile
from Sk'lar.
Main
Living Cavern
Melodic
laughter rings throughout the spacious cavern as riders socialize with one
another, boasting of adventures a-dragonback, and gossiping about stodgy
wingleaders and sordid affairs. Drudges rush past you, their arms laden with
dishes and mugs of Klah, desperate to relieve themselves of their burden while
pesky 'lizards inhibit their progress.
The
light from the glows warmly illuminates the domed cavern and shimmers off the
walls as miniscule mineral particles reflect the soft lighting like twinkling
stars blanketed in a wintry gray sky. Numerous tables lie scattered across the
room, some large enough to hold a whole wing of riders while others were made
only for two. Towards the back, a large
hearth breathes soul soothing warmth into weary bodies as its flames dance with
hypnotic grace and puppet flickering shadows across the spacious stone
stage. Sultry, mouth-watering aromas
float in from a small archway that leads to the kitchens while chattering can
be heard emanating from a wide hallway.
Flopped
atop various perches are Fallon and Mysti.
You see
S'am, Telgar Weyr Menu, A small runnerbeast carving, kitten carving, and Reni
here.
Annie
and Adrian are here.
From
here you can go:
Lower
Caverns Bowl Infirmary
Kitchen Gaming Room
(
Eveningtime
finds Annie picking through the buffet assembled of dinner's leftovers, pickily
filling her plate with odds and ends of comestibles. A slice of roast herdbeast
here, a dollop of mashed tubers there, a bubbly to top the whole mess off. A
glass of wine is procured, and she turns to make her way to the head table,
only to see one of her unloved bronzeriders in her path. "Move," she
grumbles at Sk'lar.
Sk'lar
is lacking the toddling of his movements from days previous. Actually, he is
managing to get around far better than feeling his way along the walls. With
wide-brimmed hat pulled down low over his face, so as to shield still
light-sensitive eyes, his head is lifted just enough so that he can see all
'til table-top height and still be shadowed. Steps take him in the direction of
the hearth-side table, more than determined to get his own foot today. He can
even go to the privy by himself! Woo! "Good day," he murmurs to a
pair of legs as they move to stand before him. Alas, he doesn't move.
Adrian
looks only slightly lost, for he knows where he is, but this place is where he
keeps ending up no matter where he goes...
Painter-boy sighs and rolls his eyes, "An' how come I haven't asked
anyone?" This is said mostly to
himself. He soon throws up his hands
and gives up, finding that he's more hungry than worrying about trying to get
wherever it is he's trying to go. A
small plate is picked up, but as he moves down the table of food, the contents
on his plate begins to pile - We've got some fish fingers (lots of those), a
few samples of cheese and a large piece of klah cake. Yummy... Cromite moves to
a table, but before he catches the rudeness, of a certain woman, to the
bronzer.
Adrian
Tall,
dark and well, handsome. What more could you want? The boy stands at a pleasant
height. Locks of ebony have been trimmed short, yet still remains having a
slight curl and shaggy, though respectable, appearance. Darkly tanned face
helps emerald eyes stand out as they give off a hint of his curiousity of his
surroundings. Defined jaw is slightly tilted upward to show a bit of arrogence
which will always be noticed. His features are slightly rugged, yet refined
with an artistic grace, both manly and proper. The boy's frame is built well -
chisaled arms, chest, torso, etc, yet hands are nowhere near rugged or worn.
Fingers are delicate and are capable of holding a slender brush and paint with
precision-perfect strokes. Thin lips are set in either a smile, or devilish
smirk, accompanied by a wink or two.
What
seems to be a unique blend of clothing, an idea which could only be conceived
by one with an intensely creative mind, resides upon his body. The main shade
upon his tunic, of red, has been splashed upon it with many different tints of
the solitary color. Thin strands of thread, gold, purple, azure and grey,
outline the shirt in intricate designs creating an interesting effect. Wrapping
snugly around his thin waist is a dark tanned hide belt. A pair of trousers are
worn, also colored a dark tan shade, which drift down over a pair of dark brown
boots. Always accompanying the boy wherever it is he may go, is a large,
satchel, which has been dyed a deep jade. Yellow shoulder strap wraps around
one shoulder, across his chest, torso and behind his back. Residing in the
satchel are usually many hides, rolled up like scrolls. Could they be official
documents, or judging by his unique appearance, paintings?
He is
awake and looks alert.
Carrying:
DaVinci
Paint Satchel
Annie
Murky
depths of olive settle in a faded, befreckled countenance above thin lips,
while a coppery-toned autumn mixture -- reds, oranges, browns, and golds --
wisps about her head; the hair is cropped functionally short at her chin,
tickling persistantly at nose and cheeks. Average height is accentuated by a gaunt
frame, boniness protruding at all angles and curves, distressingly, wont to be
found. A lanky creature, she moves cautiously, but with a smoothness practiced
over turns which, along with faint crinkles about the eyes, betrays obvious
maturity.
Loose leather
trous -- borrowed -- hang from her hips, held in place by a simple belt. Dark
in color, they hold a somber backdrop for the lively spring green of the
too-big jacket. Well-worn gloves are on hand when needed; when not, they poke
from jacket's pockets. Omnipresent scuffed boots are, of course, there, and a
cap lined with age-ratted fleece is ready to smoosh her shortened locks out of
harm's way.
Double
cords of white and black twine with a silken ribbon of desert gold, looping
thrice over one bony shoulder. Golden thread binding and a pair of tassles
marks her as Telgar's Senior Weyrwoman.
She
seems to be in her later thirties.
She is
awake, but has been staring off into space for 4 minutes.
Confidence
abounds-- one might fear she has found her niche at Telgar.
Sk'lar
Rukbat-gilded
hair of varnished mahogany tops this lad's head while being rooted deep in a
rogue's shadow. Olive-complexion attunes his round face, only furthering the
character of the single dimple upon his left cheek and the blanch of a
hair-thin scar that trims opposite dark eyebrow. Copper's shavings flicker in
the saturated depths of his sepia-imbued eyes, lending a sparkle to an
otherwise dark presence. Form is thin, still dealing with adolescent's growth
with muscles ever striving to keep up with the heights this boy's body is
yearning for.
Fine
tailoring gleams true with the elaborate and seemingly frail weave of
virgin-white sisal shirt, string-laced front and long sleeves. Top is tucked
into a pair of tight-fitting wherhide pants set to shine in a depthless marine
blue complete with gold piping trimming down the legs, boots are dyed an oddly
roguish sable. And the icing -his riding jacket of blue and gold, the perfect
covering for any debonair pirate of the skies.
Black and
White twine about, dressed with a thread of shining bronze. This knot is
delightfully new, proving not only that he is a member of Telgar Weyr, but a
WingSecond at that. The badge of the Skyskimmer Wing is not far from it.
He is
awake and looks alert.
Sk'lar
just looked at you.
Annie
is a certain /Weyrwoman/, actually, and she feels it is her right to be rude,
/especially/ to bronzeriders. She ignores Sk'lar's 'good day' and merely
continues her grumbling. "I said to move, Sk'lar, and you're still just
standing there-- and why are you wearing that stupid hat indoors at
night?" She shifts her plate from one hand to the other. She obviously has
not been keeping up on Weyr gossip -- normally should would know /instantly/ of
a rider's wrongdoing. Especially a bronzerider.
"Oh,
allow me," Sk'lar murmurs with great dramatics, doing something very close
to sketching a bow as he steps off to the side, waving a hand negligently in
the direction of the path she seems to desire to take. Alas, it doesn't have quite
the punch as he would normally give it. Yeah, and he recognized the voice...
and her shoes. "Uh, Hyn's fashion sense is rubbing off on me?" The
new fashion trend, bronzers in brimmed hats. And he continues on his seemingly
leisurely path towards the food table. Hopefully Ashki hasn't been cooking in
the kitchens again. He doesn't think his stomach could take much more of the
young man's 'talents'.
Annie
seems to have forgotten her trek to the table, and instead trails after Sk'lar.
Perhaps she is bored. Perhaps she is lonely. But she won't admit to being
anything other than In Charge. (Annie finds it absolutely /wonderful/ to have a
Weyrleader who /never/ scolds her for /anything/ she does -- this is the life!)
"You should take it off," she persists. "You probably can't see
a thing under that brim, and you better not knock anything over just because of
that silly hat, because I'll make you clean it up." Nag, nag, nag.
Sk'lar
is stalked, this is new. He manages to find the plates, and precedes to settles
things along the line of meatrolls, breaded redfin, and even quite the
collection of greens on his plate. He meanders down towards the breads,
"No, I sure can't see much, and that is is point. But its amazing how many
people in this Weyr really should invest in new boots.... such as
yourself." He finds roll that isn't too hard, setting it on the plate,
"Haven't knocked anything over yet." If it isn't a Healer nagging at
him, it'd just have to be a weyrwoman. Figures.
Ri has
arrived.
Annie's
first instinct would be to kick Sk'lar with her ratty old boots, but she
restrains herself properly. Weyrwomen cannot be impulsively violent, she
reminds herself, it's bad for morale. "Would you have me purchasing
extravagant new boots every other sevenday and letting all the Weyr's children
go hungry due to my excess?" she asks icily, idly dipping her finger in
her mashed tubers and licking it off. "Anyway, take off the hat," she
orders. "You're indoors." This is /so/ much nicer than Ista! She
never gets in trouble for anything here!
Ri
slides out of light leather jacket as she hits the cavern, the room's dimmness
temporarily blinding the demi-rider. At hearing Annie's voice, she pauses..
waiting to see just who is getting it from the gold rider at the moment. No
need to walk heedless into trouble.
"Not
unless you wish me to be howling to the stones, and have a flurry of healers on
your case. No." Hah! Annie is being denied, and it isn't even for spite,
but true healer's orders. Sk'lar even takes perverse pleasure in that little
two-letter word. "No." He turn about to slowly make his way to the
first available seat and plunk down into it, albeit a littler slower than
usual.
Annie
trails persistantly after Sk'lar, betraying the fact that she is /obviously/
bored, /obviously/ nosy, and /obviously/ just picking a fight for fun. Love
her. She plops down right next to the young bronzerider, setting her plate of
rapidly-cooling food before her. "Why can't you? Why would the healers be
on /my/ case?" she asks, tone a bit peevish. "/I/ haven't done
anything wrong." See, Sk'lar is Annie's pet project: how quickly can she
drive her pet over the brink?
Ri
sighs.. Sk', she should have known.. But in this particular sistuation, the
bronzer-boy is right.. "Weyrwoman Annie, Sk'.." Proper salutes
offerd, even as she grits her teeth about saluting Sk'.. "Actually, Sk'lar
is correct in this istance. He's still recovering from a severe case of
firehead and requires the protection offered by the hat." The healer in
her is far more formal then the rider, did you notice? "And SkySkimmer
sends thier best Sky.. J'avia is hoping to see youa s soon as you are
released."
Sk'lar
can give as good as he gets. Alas, he isn't exactly in top form at the moment.
Shame, really. Spork nudges the greens a little to the side to avoid the
spilling gravy from his mashed tubers. "Because I like it. The healers
like it. Tarlin likes to see me in it. And it brings out the color of my
eyes." That would, naturally, help if one could actually see his eyes.
D'oh! And then Ri actually had to go and tell her he is some kind of invalid.
"J'avia?" *twitch-cringe* As soon as she finds out he is making
excursions out of the infirmary, he is dead.
"Firehead?"
Annie's eyes narrow to mere slits as she turns her gaze to the hat-wearing
bronzerider. "How did you get /firehead/?" she asks pointedly,
spearing a slice of roast. Her gaze flickers to Ri. "How did he get
firehead?" Ever notice that Annie is perpetually out of the proverbial
loop? That's what happens when you're a Weyrwoman /and/ a Wingnut. She adds, as
a little afterthought, "And if you're so sick, what are you doing out
here? You should be... somewhere. Convalescing."
Ri
says, "Ummm.." Let's let Sky-boy answer that first question.. No way
she's going to explain about the breaking of the quarentine. "Well, he is
far enough in his healing to be allowed /some/ movement about, as long as he
styas inside, close to the infirmary." Ther, and she better be right and
Sky had best not just made a liar of her. "so, he is convalescing. he
can't ride or between to go anywhere else."
Sk'lar
clears his throat and ducks his head, seemingly finding endless interest in the
food on his plate. Spork prods at the breaded fish now. *poke-poke* "Well,
I suppose people generally get firehead when they go South. Tarlin's case was
lighter. And I'm just getting over it now, its been about a pair of months
now." Which, if she put the math together, would land that at around the
time of the quarantine. Mmmmm. Look, a meatroll.
Annie
hasn't put two and two together. Yet. "What were you doing at
Southern?" she asks, munching away contentedly at her food. One might
think that she is actually /happy/, now -- that she actually enjoys annoying
the living daylights out of people. To Ri, she offers a little nod, considering
this, remembering the greenrider's healing experience. "I guess it's
alright, then," she admits slowly, regarding Sk'lar not being in the
infirmary.
Ri
sighs in relief, for the moment. Greenrider heads away from the table to grab
some food, Liuth having fed, it's her turn now. Funny how her lifemate's
appetite always affects her before Li eats, but she never feels better after
the dragon is full. "So, how are you, Annie?" Lame, but it /might/
sidetrack her, ni?
Sk'lar
is actually out at the Healer's okay, and not sneaking out like just the other
day. *cough* Anyway.. "I was spending some time /alone/ with Tarlin."
She wouldn't question too deeply into that, would she? "You know...
/together/." Nothing more satisfying in this world than to keep the
Weyrwoman clueless. He tilts his head back enough to look to Ri and still keep
his eyes shadowed, grin tickling at the corners of his mouth as he chews upon a
meatroll.
Annie
offers Ri a little smile as she continues to graze on her meal. "I'm doing
well," she responds. "Serath is lovelier than ever, you know."
Serath is always the most important topic of Annie's conversation. She glances
back over to Sk'lar. "Time alone? Together?" She wrinkles her nose.
"Why on Pern would you need to go all the way to /Southern/ to do
that?" she asks.
Ri
says, "I'm glad she is Annie." eeeps, how could she forget to ask
about the gold? Ah well, look.. the rider is still focused on Sk', so she's
fairly safe.. "Yea, Sky? Whyever did you have to leave Telgar?"
There.. a neat distraction as she fills a plate and grabs a bowl of soup.. Oh
wait, Tarlin said to stay away from the soup, never mind. "Hunter and I
find the weyr quite private enough." Smirk."
"Because
it wasn't Telgar?" Sky suggests softly, that naturally being the entire
point. Away from infected Telgar. He moves on to enjoying his mushed tubers,
swishing the gravy into them with thick strokes. His grin quirks, "I'm
sure you and Hunter have a fine time up in your weyr, Ri. You two, Liuth, and
your pillars. But there is nothing wrong in spending time in a beautiful
tropical locale /away/ from the rest of the populace." Notice how he keeps
bringing up how secluded it was. Yes, their own private quarantine. He must emphasize
that point, before the heavy hand of 'authority' starts beating on him.